


New Boy, Old World

by BrandonStrayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, New Girl (TV 2011)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Drinking Games, Facebook: The Pen15 is Mightier, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne
Summary: Harry plays his first game of True American and very much enjoys the international relations that result.
Relationships: Nick Miller/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Prompt Exchange 2020





	New Boy, Old World

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Playing a drinking game at a party that he was invited to by a friend from work Harry Potter shares a kiss with Nick Miller that they both enjoy. They develop romantic feelings for each other and decide to date.

Harry took the cold pint of beer from the Muggle bartender with a grateful smile and took a deep, bracing mouthful. He swirled the liquor around his mouth for a moment, washing it over his tongue, before swallowing it. His nose scrunched up a bit at the bitter aftertaste, which was quite different from the sweet caramel of his usual preferred Butterbeer. Still, it wasn’t bad, and he could definitely use a little courage right now.

He turned around and scanned the room casually while he took another sip of his beverage. At first, he couldn’t see Hermione, but then a woman to his left shifted and he spotted her wild tangle of curls. She was gesticulating forcefully with her hands and he figured she must be debating some important matter of the state with the small group of men that were assembled around her. Although, Hermione brought a certain level of intensity to everything she set her mind to, so it was entirely possible that she was over there explaining the differences between holly and mistletoe (a history lesson that he, himself, had been blessed to receive on the journey over here and Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was).

“Can I help you, sir?” Harry heard the bartender ask to a man that had stepped up to the bar beside him as he continued his perusal of the room, a banquet room in one of London’s swankiest hotels which had been rented out especially for this soirée. That was how Hermione had described it: a soirée. Harry still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get him to agree to go with her to this thing. If there was one person that did not belong at a soirée, it was him.

When he’d picked her up at her central London flat, he hadn’t missed the flicker of disappointment when she took in his dark denims and blazer, but she’d been kind enough not to say anything (or maybe she’d been afraid he’d back out if she had.) Either way, here he was surrounded by people decked out in fancy, bespoke suits while he was most definitely underdressed.

“How much for a beer?” the man beside him asked, and Harry’s ears perked up in interest at the voice—not only because it had a low, gravelly quality to it that Harry found appealing, but also because of the obvious American accent.

“We have a wide range of craft ales from across the continent offered free of charge for this event, sir,” the bartender replied.

The man stared at him for a moment as if it was taking him a bit of effort to translate the words, even though they were delivered in English. After a few seconds, he asked suspiciously, “Wait, so they’re free?”

Harry gave up any pretence of pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping on the exchange and turned around to lean down on the bar while trying to suppress the look of amusement on his face.

The bartender plastered on a rigor mortis smile, obviously less than impressed that he was having to deal with this particular customer. “Yes, sir. They are all free.” Harry wasn’t sure whether the man’s annoyance at a simple question was rooted in class since he worked at such a snooty establishment, or whether the other man was so obviously an American and therefore, by his very nature, surely must be a gnat in need of a swat.

“Great!” the customer said with a small laugh of joy. He then proceeded to drum his hands against the bar whilst biting his lip and letting out a long “Hmmmmmmmmmm”, as if debating his plethora of options. The bartender’s smile shifted one degree stiffer, if possible, while he waited with quickly waning patience for the man’s order. “I guess I’ll have a Guinness. That’s a local beer, yeah?”

“A stout, sir. From Ireland,” the bartender confirmed as he pulled out a fresh pint glass and began filling it with the thick brew.

“Thanks,” the American said as the bartender placed the pint, whose thick head of foam was threatening to teeter over the lip, and slid it across the bar. The bartender didn’t acknowledge the offer of thanks so much as grunt before he retreated to the other end of the bar to exchange a few words with his coworker, the two of them exchanging quick looks at the American.

Harry felt a flash of annoyance and felt strangely protective of the man. His hand twitched, aching to pull out his wand and send a few Bat-Bogey Hexes their way—his dalliance with heterosexuality may have ended with a fizzle, but he would forever be grateful to his only girlfriend for sharing her expertise of that particular skill with him. Fortunately, the man seemed to be completely oblivious to the catty bartender’s behaviour as he took a sip of the stout.

Not quite sure what had gotten into him—Harry was never what you would describe as a social butterfly and was rarely one to initiate a conversation with a stranger—Harry shifted closer and said, “You should have asked for utensils for that.”

The American looked around him in surprise before realising that Harry was talking to him. Harry rushed to clarify, “Guinness is just a really thick beer. More a meal than a beverage.”

Understanding dawned on the American’s face and he nodded before taking a sip of the pint. “It’ll put hair on your chest,” he agreed before looking down at his chest. Undoing the top button of his flannel shirt, he inspected his chest for a moment before adding, “Not that I really need any more hair on there.”

Letting his shirt drop back against his chest, the American shrugged and took another deep pull off his pint, coming away with a layer of foam clinging to the hairs of his moustache. Harry found himself grinning at the stranger, charmed by his down-to-earthness. Or maybe it was the fact that he was possibly the only person in this room that looked less like he belonged in here than Harry, in loose-fitting denims and a red and black flannel top, he looked like he’d be more comfortable in a corner pub than in this fancy-pants hotel.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand for the American to shake. “Harry Potter.”

“Don’t you mean, Bond. James Bond?” the man asked, looking amused as he took Harry’s proffered hand. Harry felt rather silly as he realised he did sound quite a bit like the famous English secret agent, but the other man shook his head and shrugged, his face contorting into a strangely adorable frown. “I’m only joking. Nick Miller.”

“What brings you here, Nick?”

“Here as in this party? Or here as in London?”

“Both,” said Harry.

“I’m here with a friend of mine, Cece.” He pointed across the room to a statuesque Indian woman who even Harry had to admit was gorgeous, as was evidenced by the crowd of blokes that she had accrued around her.

“It looks like she’s having fun,” Harry ventured, wanting to know what the nature of their relationship was exactly. Surely if she was his girlfriend, he wouldn’t be over here while half of hetero male London was over there trying to impress her.

“Yeah, that happens pretty much everywhere we go,” he laughed. “They’re barking up the wrong tree though”—Harry’s hopes plummeted—“because she’s happily married to my best friend.” And back up went Harry’s hopes.

Trying not to look too relieved at that nugget of information, Harry merely offered a noncommittal, “Oh.”

“Well, one of my best friends,” Nick added, more to himself than Harry. “He likes to call himself my best friend anyway, but I’m also really tight with Winston, especially since Schmidt’s moved out of the loft. It’s hard to stay in touch once your friends start having children, y’know?”

Harry had no idea who these Winston and Schmidt people were, but he could definitely relate to that. Hermione and Ron hadn’t started having children yet, thankfully, but quite a few of their other friends from Hogwarts had and their weekly DA pub nights had slowly dwindled down to a handful of regular attendees now. Harry was sure it was only a matter of time before Ron and Hermione decided it was time to start their own family—especially now that Hermione was in line for that big promotion to Senior Undersecretary for the Minister.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” Harry said, taking an extra long pull on his pint. “So does your friend, Cece, work for the government?” Harry chanced another glance over at the beautiful woman; he thought she would be more at home on a catwalk than in some boring meeting about tax law updates, but he didn’t want to judge her based solely on her looks. Hermione was fairly fit, but if Ron told him that she liked to recite Ministry codes as foreplay, Harry would not be surprised.

“Oh, nah. We just had a meeting earlier with the publisher that’s working on the Prime Minister’s memoir. The agent invited us to this thing.” Nick gestured vaguely around the room, his Guinness swirling perilously close to the rim of his glass. “As you can see, this isn’t really my scene.”

“Mine either,” Harry said, gesturing down at himself. “Believe it or not, this is probably the fanciest outfit I own.”

“Hmmm,” Nick said, scrutinising Harry for a moment before he continued, “Hey, this is going to sound kind of weird, but do you want to get out of here? There has to be a pub or something around here that we could go to where we’d both feel a little more comfortable.”

Harry grinned before tossing back the rest of his beer. “Hell, yes. Let’s get out of here. I just have to go let my friend know. I’ll be right back.” He hesitated for a moment, but when Nick settled against the bar and chugged down the remainder of his pint, Harry was reassured that he wasn’t just going to disappear.

Hermione offered to come with him, but Harry could tell that she was enjoying the networking opportunity—it was important for the Undersecretary to the Minister to have strong connections within the British government as they often liaised with the government on Magical affairs—and Harry was eventually able to convince Hermione that she should stay.

Harry hurried back to the bar, half-convinced that Nick would be gone, but he was relieved to see that he was still there, chatting with his gorgeous friend.

“Umm, hey,” Harry said nervously, walking up to them.

“Oh, hi. You must be Harry,” she said, definitely giving Harry an appraising once over. She didn’t exactly look thrilled. “Let’s get out of here. That dude over there has had one too many and is starting to get a little handsy.” She shot a scathing look over her shoulder at a man who definitely did look a little ruddy and who waved his fingers at her in a wave, which she didn’t acknowledge.

“You ready?” Nick asked. When Harry nodded, Nick clapped his hands together, rubbing the palms against one another. “Great. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Harry was a little disappointed that it wasn’t just the two of them, but he decided to make the best of it.

The next few hours were a bit of a blur for Harry, partly because of the multiple pints he consumed, but also because it was one of the most random nights of Harry’s life. The three of them made their way to a small pub a few blocks away and proceeded to imbibe enough pints that Harry’s head was a bit fuzzy and everything seemed like a laugh. And of course, every night of drinking is incomplete without a late-night quest for food, so it was when they were ordering their greasy kebabs that they had met the amateur football league that was in the city for a game.

The footballers were, impressively, even more legless than they were at that point and somehow they’d all wound up in a spacious hotel suite—Harry still didn’t know whose it was. More beers were consumed and before Harry knew what was happening they were all playing an utterly incomprehensible drinking game which seemed to very loosely incorporate important moments in American history and had them leaping across the room on top of furniture while trying to avoid the floor, which was now lava.

Harry was either too drunk to strategise or the rules were nonsensical, but miraculously he had avoided falling prey to the carpet lava thus far. The rowdy footballers had gotten even rowdier when they’d caught onto the rule that if they fell in the lava, they had to drink an entire beer to re-enter the game. Since that little discovery, not a single round hadn’t gone by without one of them gleefully leaping off whatever piece of furniture they happened to find themselves on and snagging another beer. The way the cans kept flowing made Harry wonder if  _ Geminio _ was being used, though more likely it was the room service bill that was doubling exponentially.

Harry had just won the chance to move two spaces and found himself balancing precariously on a groaning chair alongside Nick. In an effort to give the other man a little space—not to mention the growing problem in his trousers which, frankly, was miraculous considering how much the room was spiralling right now—Harry shuffled back and teetered on the edge of the cushion. He would have fallen if Nick hadn’t wound his strong arm around Harry’s lower back and pulled him back in.

“Careful, mate!” Nick said cheerfully, the fake British accent that had steadily grown as the night progressed apparently entirely out of his control now. Harry probably should have found it obnoxious, if not mildly insulting, but it was actually kind of endearing.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman!” Cece shouted from the cushion of the couch where she stood on the other side of the bed. Harry was too distracted by the strong arm that was still wrapped around him as the rest of the players repeated the chant and hastily held their hand up to their forehead with an assortment of fingers displayed. Harry hastily caught up to the gesture and there was a moment of pregnant anticipation as everyone looked around the room, analysing everyone else’s choices.

The outcome dawned on Cece first, as she grinned mischievously at Nick and himself, pointing at their foreheads. Harry craned his head back to see that Nick, also, was holding up a fist, zero fingers extended.

“Oval room! Oval room!” the footballers chanted as they rushed at them, chasing Nick and himself into the bathroom and pulling the door shut behind them. Harry could still hear them raucously chanting from the other side of the wooden door as he and Nick stood there, uncomfortably avoiding making eye contact.

“We can just lie,” Harry offered. “We can tell them that we kissed. They’ll never know.”

“Cece would be able to tell. That woman has a sixth sense for men bullshitting her,” Nick said. Harry wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Nick’s words seemed to suggest that he was planning to snog Harry, but Nick’s arms were wrapped tightly around his torso and he was pacing the short stretch of marble floor, eyeing the window. It looked like he was planning to make a break for it, but Harry really hoped he wasn’t that drunk; they were at least six storeys up.

As much as Harry would love to snog Nick, he had no interest in snogging someone that had no interest in participating, so he was just opening his mouth to assure Nick that he was an excellent liar—even though he really wasn’t—when Nick’s entire posture changed: his shoulders squared off as he dropped his arms, hands fisted at his side. Even with the chanting still going strong behind him, Harry could hear the whistling of air as Nick took several quick breaths in succession and then all thoughts fled his mind as Nick closed the distance between them and grabbed Harry’s head, pulling him in for a kiss.

The kiss was hardly graceful at first, their lips coming together with enough force to knock their teeth together, but it slowly melted into something softer as their lips parted and their tongues tentatively ventured forward to explore. By the time it was over, the softness of their lips pulling apart was in stark contrast to the rushing thumps of his heartbeats that were filling Harry’s ears, drowning out the sounds from the other room.

Harry licked his lips, trying to regain some semblance of control over his thoughts—at least enough of one to form a single coherent sentence. “Wow, that was…” he trailed off. Well, that was almost a complete thought at least.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. At least they appeared to be on the same page, even if the page was mostly blank.

“For a minute, I thought you might’ve preferred jumping out of that window rather than kissing me,” Harry said. He was almost positive that he had a dopey grin on his face, and though he was doing his best to play it cool, he was also almost positive that he was failing miserably at that.

Nick took another step back and laughed as he ran his hand over the rough stubble on his chin, nodding all the while. Harry felt a shiver as he remembered the feel of that stubble against his own skin only moments ago, already regretting the growing distance between them. Nick sat, using his hands on his knees to brace himself before resting his elbows on them and letting his head droop toward the floor. “For a minute, I seriously considered it.”

Harry might as well have stepped into the glass shower a few steps away and cranked the cold water tap, his ardour fizzling out just as fast it would by being doused in glacial water. It was obvious that the buzz of attraction was all in his head and Nick regretted their intimate moment. “Sorry that it wasn’t to your liking. At least now we can get out of here and Cece will know that you’re not lying.”

Harry spun around to open the door—he was a wizard and, right now, he didn’t care a lick if he had to use an  _ Alohomora _ charm to subvert the will of the Muggles keeping him in here—but before he could whisper the incantation, a hand landed on the door beside his head. Harry looked up, admiring the taut muscles on display, wondering what branch of magic it was that made a man’s arm infinitely more attractive when on display below a rolled-up shirt. Surely that had to be some form of Transfiguration.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nick said, his voice gruff with frustration...or was that arousal? Harry couldn’t be sure and right now he was having trouble summoning the courage that Gryffindor was famous for as he stood staring down at the brass doorknob clenched firmly in his hand.

Clearing his throat and closing his eyes, Harry asked, “What did you mean?”

The tempting forearm disappeared as Nick retreated slightly. Harry started to turn around but was stopped with a hand on his shoulder. “Actually, can you just stay like that for a minute? This might be easier to say if I don’t have to look at you.”

He stood there awkwardly staring at the door with nothing but silence behind him. He was just about to leave when Nick finally spoke, “I don’t regret that I kissed you.” He paused, but Harry waited for him to continue; he could hear the frustration in Nick’s voice as he tried to formulate his explanation. After a few moments, Harry’s patience was rewarded as Nick continued, “I’ve just never done…  _ that _ before.”

Harry didn’t have to ask what Nick meant. He highly doubted that a man of Nick’s age had never kissed anyone before, so Harry knew he must meant that he’d never kissed another man before. He couldn’t say that really surprised him. He’d been sensing an attraction between him and Nick all night, but there was nothing overt about it. And not that he was one to stereotype people, but Nick definitely looked the part of a straight man.

“Okay…” Harry said, trailing off. He wasn’t sure where to go after that. He didn’t know if this was just a wee experiment on Nick’s part, or whether he was wanting to explore that side of himself more.

“I probably wasn’t even very good. Girls I’ve kissed in the past have compared my tongue to a limp noodle, so… sorry about that.”

Harry grinned at the door. What the kiss may have lacked in technical proficiency, it more than made up for in exuberance and passion. “Definitely not a limp noodle. Perfect al dente.”

There was a relieved huff of laugh behind him and Harry shivered as the warm breath rushed over the hairs at the base of his neck. “Actually, this is really weird. Can you please turn around?”

Harry acquiesced and turned to see Nick smiling at him as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “So…” they both began at the same time, before laughing nervously.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Nick stopped and looked down at his watch, before adding, “Well, today actually.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. He paused just long enough to see the barest flash of disappointment bloom on NIck’s face before adding, “You tell me.”

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse), [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliemaye), and [Keep_Calm_and_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_calm_and_expecto_patronum) for their betaing this. You guys are my rocks!


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